


Short Stories

by holy_smokes



Series: Short Stories - The Umbrella Academy [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Banter, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Arguing, Cultural Differences, Cultural References, Drug Addiction, Ex-Prostitute Klaus, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Five gets a puppy, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fragile Masculinity Strikes Again, Gen, Grief, Growing Up, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Insulting Language, Klaus & The Girls Bonding, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus and Grace Bonding, Light Angst, Manhandling, Mathematics, Multi, Non-Binary Klaus Hargreeves, Oblivious Diego, Past Abuse, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Romantic Fluff, Sober Klaus Hargreeves, Spoilt Klaus, Vulnerable Klaus, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-02-28 13:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18757486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holy_smokes/pseuds/holy_smokes
Summary: #7: Allison's emotions get the better of her in a miserable encounter with her broken brother, Klaus.RATING: Gen. Allison & Klaus (siblings, gen).WARNINGS/TAGS for Short Story #7: Drug/Alcohol Abuse, Rumoring, Angst, Confrontation, Bad Parenting, Physical Violence, Sibling Argument.





	1. Big Boys Do Cry

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of short stories, all Umbrella Academy focused. Some stories have ships, some don't, everything will be tagged accordingly :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diego & Klaus. Diego thinks it's brotherly banter but hurts Klaus, cue an awkward conversation and some hurt/comfort.

 

Diego's head is pounding. Last night was not a good idea. Luther's ability to drink is unmatched, thanks to his size, and since discovering alcohol he's become somewhat fond of the occasional blowout. They schedule it for whenever Klaus is with the girls, doing hair and nails at Vanya's apartment (Diego would love to see Vanya of all people indulging in that, but that's by the by) and it's become something of a, dare he say it, fun Number One and Number Two monthly bonding session.  
  
Thing is, Diego can't drink as much as Luther, not that he would ever want to admit that.   
  
That's why he's doubled over in the kitchen, clutching his stomach, praying the vomit away.  
  
"Ugh," he complains to no one in particular, seeing as he's alone, "whisky is evil."  
  
"Oh, whisky?" he hears in a sing-song, soft voice, "oh, how I miss her, my pretty little liquid angel."  
  
Diego squints over at his willowy brother, all smiles as he waltzes into the large kitchen. Klaus is draped in a silk yellow poncho and tight denim jeans which Diego highly suspects are Allison's. The man refuses to wear men's clothes and refuses to actually buy women's clothes, just steals them, much to their sister's annoyance.   
  
"Did 1 and 2 have fun?" Klaus presses, putting the coffee press on, "little brotherly bonding?"  
  
"Yeah," Diego grunts, back to his younger brother, "something like that."  
  
"Aw, Luther out drink you again? You really are a light weight. If I still drank, I'd beat you too," he chuckles, making Diego turn around, pissy.  
  
"Luther's a giant, in case you hadn't noticed," he tells the ever-irritating Four. Klaus just shrugs but can't resist a jibe, always happy to wind someone up, sober or not.  
  
"Poor little Diego," he smirks, scrabbling around the cupboard for sugar, "always falling short of being number one, even at a dumb, dick-swinging drinking sesh with your bro."  
  
"Shut your trap, Klaus," Diego bites back, not liking the way the feelings of insecurity settle in his stomach. He doesn't understand why it angers him so much, but there's something especially humiliating about it being his little brother Klaus tease him for not matching up. Klaus, more a girl than a boy, acting like Diego's small, feels especially bitter on his tongue.  
  
"Ooh," Klaus giggles, still amused which only serves to make Diego's hangover worse and his temper flare, "don't get your panties in a twist because you should have stuck to the orange juice, sweetie."  
  
Diego can't quite pinpoint what makes him do it. Perhaps it's the misplaced idea that physical violence between siblings, even in adulthood, is just one of those things, but there's no denying his bent ego isn't a driving force. He shoves Klaus face first against the large oak cupboard, satisfied to hear his head smack against it, grabbing and twisting a bird-like arm against Klaus' back.  
  
"You think you're better than me? You're not," he hisses, fizzling with anger, "spent the past decade being a junkie hooker and think it's all washed away because you've managed two months sober?"  
  
"Diego," Klaus begs, voice broken as he wriggles to no avail. That's when Diego realizes why he's got Klaus in such a tight, unforgiving position -- because he  _can_. Klaus is fresh meat, always, he's the sibling everyone wanted to fight in training because he'd always lose, too distracted, too  _soft_.   
  
Diego forces some pressure on the bent arm, making Klaus' knees give way slightly, but he can't fall with Two pressed against his back. He whimpers, voice fall of tears and bringing Diego out of his anger.  
  
"You're hurting me," Four accuses, broken, little shoulders pressed against Diego's chest, "please, stop, you're hurting me."  
  
Diego lets go immediately, the mist of earlier rising to the ceilings like a possessed demon being evacuated from its host. He watches with a quiet horror as Klaus brings his arm down shakily, clearly trying his best not to sob openly, his other hand coming to soothe his sore arm.  
  
"Klaus - "  
  
"No," Klaus says softly, still upset, "leave me alone."  
  
Diego can't, though. He steps forward and places a hand on the arm he bent out of shape, hating that Klaus tenses, desperately trying to keep himself closer to the old, dusty cupboards than be near Diego. It's not like he has a choice, and the rational part of Diego knows he's just making it worse and taking all of Klaus' choices away but it's overpowered by his own selfish need to be reassured he's not a bad man.  
  
"Don't be upset," he says, or more pleads.  
  
"I've had worse," Klaus mutters, steeling himself, "you're not the first man who's had his ego bruised, Diego. Now get  _off_ me," he demands, halfheartedly elbowing Diego away yet Diego can't go, not after that.  
  
"What do you mean?" he asks, confused, finally allowing Klaus out of his grip so his brother can turn around. He takes in Klaus' nervous eyes, the tears having brought a little pinkness to his face and that's when he feels guilty.  
  
"What do you think?" Klaus almost laughs, but not quite, "as you so gentlemanly pointed out, I was a junkie hooker. And even without the  _clients_ , the men I ended up with were not exactly kind."  
  
Diego feels a bit sick again. He can rough and tumble with Klaus, but the idea of another man laying a hand on him, to hurt him -- when Klaus is so tiny, so vulnerable, eager to please -- terrifies him.   
  
"I'm so sorry," he says, the feeling of embarrassment and shame better than leaving Klaus without an apology. Klaus's bottom lip wobbles, as it does, but he nods. Diego doesn't miss how he flinches when Diego takes a step closer, takes his hand. He knows how much Klaus values affection as a token of love, so he's trying to be more comfortable with it.  
  
"Hey," he squeezes, wanting Four's attention, "listen. It wasn't cool to do that to you. I never want you to be scared of me. I thought it was just brotherly sparring, I guess - I - I'm real sorry, Klaus. I'm sorry those men hurt you. I don't want to be included with them."  
  
Klaus' eyes well with tears but he nods more enthusiastically this time. He leans in and waits, Diego's dumb brain taking a few seconds to realize he wants a hug, so he does it, wrapping his arms around the small body in front of him.   
  
"I've got you," he says, because it feels like something he should say, and this time he touches Klaus with care, feeling his brother relax in his arms.  
  


**

 


	2. Happy Endings and New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apocalypse averted, Five has a puppy, Klaus is jealous and Diego's soft in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: "This isn’t remotely porny but I just cannot shake the image from my mind. In the comics, Five has a puppy. Please can someone write this? Five still being his cute but asshole self except he’s weak for his puppy. (Basically replace Dolores with a puppy, soz Dolores). Bonus points if the puppy randomly hates one of the siblings and it makes them sad (Luther? Diego?). Puppy loves Klaus even if Five’s convinced puppy will get STDs just from sitting on Klaus’s lap. (No furry kink, I’m just channeling Five’s thoughts, lol)."
> 
> Quick fluffy drabble!

 

**

 

Five doesn't wake up. He bolts up. No need for an alarm clock when your body runs like clockwork. Life falls into predictable, pleasant little patterns since he - and, his subconscious gently reminds him, his family - stopped the apocalypse. Yet even the savior of the world needs a companion, one that isn't one of his unhinged siblings. One that can match him in intellect whilst being subservient.

He's found her.

She's always there, awake as soon as he is. He sits upright, prepared to begin his mission for the day but as he glances down to the floor, Elizabeth is not to be found.

An unfamiliar feeling of horror rushes through him, something akin to panic. Shoving away the duvet he marches onward, stomping through the corridor and shoving doors open, cringing when he sees Allison half on Luther's lap after bursting into her bedroom.

"Five!" she yells, anger settling in on her pretty features. 

"Where's Elizabeth?" he demands, unperturbed. He scrunches his nose at seeing Luther hunch over slightly. They may perceive Five visually as a child but he's old enough to recognize what a boner looks like. 

"I don't know where your fucking dog is," Allison hisses, as angry as a cobra, leaping off the bed and slamming it unceremoniously in Five's face.

That's when he hears a loud squeal from the drawing room adjoined to their kitchen. With a heavy heart and an angry fist, he pounds down the stairs, shoving the door open with the force of an unexpected thunderstorm and seeing the thief - _thieves_ \- bunched up on the sofa, Elizabeth on her back, small belly being attacked by a palm.

"Klaus," he admonishes, irritated with himself that it just feels wrong to zap Elizabeth in his arms so he has to walk over, ready to snatch her back.

"Hey, don't you dare," Diego warns, sat like a proud Father with Klaus inbetween his legs and Elizabeth play-biting his little love, Klaus' sleepy curls everywhere as he giggles and fusses the puppy, "don't be so needy, Five."

Five turns, eyes ablaze, which does make Diego look at least a little frightened. Two is one to talk about neediness.

"She _loves_ me," Klaus titters, long legs thrown over the leather back of the sofa. Five is sure Four's enjoying this, a soft ball of Pomeranian fluff in his lap, Diego's strong arms wrapped around him as he acts as a handsome cushion for Klaus to rest his body upon. Five isn't sure when this little dalliance kicked off but he remembers at thirteen years old - many decades ago - catching Diego staring at Klaus' thighs whenever they had physical training, he can recall how Klaus would sit with heart-eyes watching Diego prance about the Hall pretending to dual with an invisible force. No one was surprised when a few months into their bizarre family reunion Diego would end his possessive rants, the last being at Vanya for eating the last of Klaus' favorite breakfast cereal, with a kiss to Klaus' childish, sad, hungry mouth.

With Reginald mercifully dead, each sibling or couple had claimed certain areas of the old Academy, attempting to make it into a home.

"Diego, she is _my_ dog, not Klaus', and God only knows what diseases he'll be rubbing all over her," he says snootily, "hand her back."

"Hey!" Klaus interjects, hurt but it's lost in a second as he yells excitedly, Elizabeth acting foolishly by leaping up to lick his chin, "I'm clean. thank you. She _adores_  me, Five."

"She doesn't," Five strides forward, extracting her from an offended Klaus who holds his hands out, Diego glaring at Five hatefully, "she has training."

"Should have known you'd turn out like the old man," Diego bitches. Five smirks.

"Watch this," he says, happy to indulge his ego, plopping Elizabeth on the floor.

"Obtain Item 79," he tells her, waiting. Elizabeth scuttles away, two pairs of eyes watching her, curious. Five eyes her, watching her clever little nose force open a kitchen cupboard before she clambers in, rustling, until she appears once more with a large bag of marshmellows, trotting back to a smug Five and an amazed Two and Four.

"How did you do that?" Klaus gapes, "oh my god, she's a fluffy little genius!"

"That's our business," Five tells him, retrieving his own breakfast from Elizabeth's mouth, "now, Elizabeth. To the hall."

He leaves, knowing she'll follow obediently, listening to the _"I want a puppy, Diego," "no!", "what about a baby? Will you give me a baby?" "Fucking hell, absolutely not,"_ from the two fools in love behind them. 

 

**

 


	3. Girls' Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus organizes Girls' Night for Grace, Allison, Vanya, Claire and himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Klaus is searching for a new role as he grapples with sobriety and being part of a family, and that includes bonding with the Hargreeves ladies. The boy makes a brief appearance but Klaus' rules are solid: Girls Night, girls only.

 

 

Rain thunders down on the roof of the Academy, insistent and unwavering in its mission to drown the city. Despite the enormity and riches of their childhood prison, every slap of a raindrop sounded like Thor’s fist back when they were children. It’s not quite as fearsome these days, the gang back together, but it still echoes unashamedly, reminding all that outside world is wet and freezing cold. 

Klaus is almost finished. He’s careful to not stand and ruin the blanket fort, deliberately created in Reginald’s old study. For tonight, this isn’t a place of coldhearted indifference and scientific journaling but it’s Klaus’ world and that world consists of blankets, jeweled cushions, fairy lights and mismatched candles. Tonight, it’s the tarot reader’s cave of dreams, full of hope and soul searching.

Tonight, they chase out Reginald’s ghost once and for all, replacing it with the thing he despised the most: love.

“Vanya!” Klaus yells after slamming the door, his pink kitten heels clacking along the hardened wood of their many corridors, “where are you?”

It isn’t long until his tiny sister appears, sheepish. She carries the weight of almost ending humanity on those ladybird-tiny shoulders of hers. Klaus would take it from her if he could.

“I have the candy,” she offers quietly, looking at Klaus in awe. He peacocks for her, twirling the soft, see-through pastel pink kimono robe, floor length, bright pink fur sewn on the ends of it. He bought it especially for tonight and he wants to be admired.

“It’s lovely,” she agrees. There’s an insult on Klaus’ tongue because her baggy navy t-shirt and over-sized grey sweatpants are _not_ chic, hardly the indulgent luxurious Girls' Night outfits of his dreams — but on further inspection, she’s perfect.

“I’ll gather the rest,” he says, finally a trusted leader rather than a useless, pretty pair of eyes as the look out, “go and get comfortable, my darling!”

With that he swooshes away to find Allison and Claire. His eldest sister, in terms of Reginald’s hierarchy, flits between the West and East coast with ease. Fame’s lost its pull for Allison, taking a break from movies as she starts to figure out what’s real. Claire, with her cute button nose, wild dreams and enviable cartwheeling abilities has become a staple whenever Allison returns East to the Academy and nothing delights Klaus more.

“Klaus!” his niece squeals upon seeing her Uncle, or Auntie as Klaus insists, invite himself into Allison’s room as he makes his collection route. He squeals back, happy to scoop her into his arms and spin her lightly, a warm feeling in his belly at Allison’s blissful smile, watching them find joy in one another.

“Ladies, your presence is requested in the old study,” he tells them, allowing Claire to stroke his robe as if he were a fairytale princess, “I just need to get Mom.”

Allison wiggles her eyebrows in excitement and she may have given up on the movie star life for now but she still looks the part in a satin mustard night dress, gesturing to Claire to help her with their many snacks bought especially for the evening.

It was slightly more challenging to get Grace to agree. Not because their Mother objected to Girls' Night but socializing was not part of her robotic make up. The perfect Mother has no need to join in with her Girls' gossip and pampering, according to Reginald’s alien understanding, but Klaus is human. They’re human, and they know better. As he’s climbing his way to Grace’s quarters he passes a huddle of boys;  _men_ only thanks to the passing of time.

“Dad’s old study is out of bounds,” he reminds them, slowing down for a hot second, “it’s Girls Night.”

“That’s not fair,” Diego immediately retorts, “what are you all doing in there?”

Klaus stops, turns on a heel, center stage and ready to play.

“Planning the destruction of the patriarchy,” he says loftily. Five, as always, looks mildly irritated whilst Luther gawps at him, still trying to process the fluffy, scarce outfit.

“What if I want to hang out with you? You can’t exclude me because I’m a dude. That’s like, reverse sexism,” Diego accuses, proud of himself, clearly having fallen down the wrong kind of rabbit hole on Twitter ever since Vanya schooled him in the art of social media.

Klaus is about to sneer something cutting when Five grimaces, snapping, “could you get anymore problematic, Diego?” 

“What?” Two asks, offended. Klaus sees his opportunity to take a leave of absence, happy in the knowledge One and Two are being subjected to Gender Studies 101. As Klaus discovered when he admitted he thought William Shakespeare was a British drag queen, Five is not a forgiving teacher.  
 

**  


Klaus enters the study with Grace on his arm like a delicate, beautiful Duchess. He's happy to see the feet of his sisters and his niece sticking out from below the top of his fort, meaning they're all cuddled up underneath.

“Get yourself comfortable, Mom,” he encourages, pleased when she flashes him a winning smile before elegantly kneeling to claim her spot.

Klaus had found a barely used coffee table which sits in the middle of their den, a safe home for the candles to sit. A teapot with several small mugs, some snacks, orange juice and bottles of bright nail varnish all sit on top. Klaus takes a small moment to be proud. However daft it may seem, this is a moment he’s been preparing for, creating quietly. There were those moments of doubt: _will they even want to spend an evening with you?_   bullying ghosts asked, mixed in with his inability to commit to anything and general chaotic way of surviving.

It’s not been easy. Sobriety is a grey sky. It’s always there, silent and dull, yet a necessity for order, for life. If there’s no sky, there’s no sun, no moon, no earth. So he stays sober, running to Mars when he feels powerless (Diego, the warrior, always ready) or Venus (Allison, princess of pleasure and love) when it feels like the sky’s going to fall in and smother Earth (everyone else).

“So,” he announces, hostess with the mostest, “welcome to our first ever Girls' Night,” he smiles, fiddling with the china to pour their tea, “let’s cheers!”

It should be awkward but it isn’t. Klaus finds himself like a cat, feline as he nudges into Grace’s side, happy as she curls an arm around him, bringing a hand to run through his hair. He’s allowed himself to grow it out. Reginald called his curls unseemly, childish, already angry at Klaus for having a face too pretty for a boy and that memory is enough to make Klaus want to live in the old bastard’s home with bountiful curls and the prettiest face.

“So. Boys?” Allison asks boldly, Claire resting on her lap, Vanya’s small feet on her ankles.

“Ew!” Claire and Vanya declare at the same time, forcing everyone into giggles. Klaus can’t blame Vanya for being on a man ban after Peabody but he makes a mental note to grill her about men at a later date.

“Not you, Auntie Klaus,” Claire promises, “you’re the best.”

“True,” Klaus agrees, content as Grace soothes him, “I’m not really a boy, though. I’m so much better than that.”

Allison regrets it when Grace ever so innocently asks “and what about Luther, dear?”, changing the topic to insist they paint nails and find some music to dance to instead. This might be Klaus’ work but he has no desire to force it in a certain way and he’s happy for Allison to take charge now he’s got them here. They reminisce on old times, telling Claire stories about their mischief, leaving out Reginald’s fondness for the cane.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” Klaus says, cutting into laughter, rendering the room silent and nervous. Grace squeezes his shoulder.

“Oh, honey,” she admonishes, the gentlest of all, “ssh. That’s not an awfully nice thing to say about your Father.”

There’s a barbed, fierce comeback on his tongue when he catches Claire looking at him fearfully. Scrambling to sit up, he forces a smile, reaching for her small hand.

“I’m sorry,” he promises, the words foreign to him because he’s not had to apologize, not sincerely, “that was mean. Even if he was a mean old bas - _a mean old man_ \- it’s ok. Are you ok?”

The room awaits Claire’s answer, visibly relaxing as she smiles and nods, reaching for the unopened pretzels. So it’s over, before it began, the heightened emotion which is always just beneath the surface of their every family interaction and Klaus can breathe again. There’s no ghosts, not even Ben, ( _“I’m an ally. I won’t interrupt Girls' Night”_ ), just his Mom’s warm, loving arms keeping him safe and grounded, like a beautiful anchor to this earth, this world, the one planet he’s always feared.

They’re high on a Madonna remix, Claire small enough to stand and dance inside the blanket cave as the rest of them sway and sing, even Grace.

“Mom, I didn’t know you know _songs_ ,” Klaus gasps, taking her hands, “and _Madonna_ , too!”

Grace blinks at him happily, always too robotic to be fully human.

“It’s very pleasing,” she tells him, “what a lovely evening you organised, my dear Klaus.”

The praise fills a hole in his chest that he’s always had, that’s always been terrorized and painful, as if wearing his heart on display and not in a pretty way. Klaus has walked through this life with the beating, bloody fist inside of him open and ready for abuse, organs spilling out of him, begging death to take him and death never does.

For one glorious moment, it feels like she’s his Mother, not just because Reginald designed a 1950s housewife for them but because she loves him. Perhaps it shows on his face as Grace reaches around, tucking a finger under his chin and stroking the skin she finds there. Klaus feels like he’s been dipped in honey as he breathes in her magic, listening to Vanya and Claire discuss music, the crackling of the candles when the door shutting the outside world to them opens and an offending man’s feet arrive at their fort.

Diego kneels down and peers in, eyes accusing.

“Mom?”

“Diego, dear - ”

“Get _out_ ,” Klaus gasps, as if caught naked and in cahoots, “no boys _allowed_!”

He stops himself when he catches Diego’s anxious expression, blinking in at the den.

“I just - I always g-g-go to say goodnight to Mom, at 10,” he admits, slightly embarrassed, “I was worried when she wasn’t there.”

“Oh, silly, I’m at Girls’ Night,” Grace tells him, all lovely in her white nightgown. Thankfully, Diego wilters under the eyes of them all, Allison looking at him with irritation, Vanya amused, Claire shocked that someone dare break Klaus’ rules but Klaus can’t bring himself to snark too much. It’s no secret Diego’s always clung to Grace more than the rest of them but for tonight she’s theirs, even if that night is dwindling to an end, with Claire’s bedtime imminent.

“It’s nice in here,” Diego offers, pouting, still slighted at being left out.

“Well, you can do the gentlemanly thing and dissemble it for us. It’s bedtime,” Klaus decides, Allison throwing him a thankful smile as she cradles her sleepy daughter. He thinks Diego is about to object but he must think better of it and by the time Klaus has seen everyone to bed, including reading Claire the shortest story of all time, Diego’s done a decent job of returning the study to its dull old self.

“Nice night?” his brother asks, Klaus feeling oddly exposed at the way Diego looks at him. He nods, beginning to help as he fiddles with a drawing pin he shoved into one of the old oak tables to keep half a blanket hanging high. He pulls too hard, dragging the pin out but accidentally pressing it into his palm, drawing a little blood.

“Ow!” he complains childishly, tears pricking his eyes as the shock fizzles through him.

Diego is at his back immediately like a fussing parent, stealing the pin out of his hand before taking Klaus’ palm in his, inspecting it closely.

“Klaus,” he tuts, “be careful.”

It’s rather nice, having Diego’s attention. Two might like to be a warrior, but there’s a soft interior, one Klaus is fond of. He briefly thinks of Dave, his lost love, no earthly ship able to bring him home. He’d never been touched so kindly until he met Dave in that dangerously hot Vietnamese town. You leave home at eighteen with ten dollars and a stubborn belief nothing can get worse and the city laughs at you, abusive Johns backhand you, crack cocaine rattles you. Things got worse every single day, until he fell into the sixties and into Dave’s embrace.

“Go get some sleep, hmm?” Diego demands softly, “I’ll finish up in here.”

Klaus fidgets with the sleeve of his robe, waiting, wondering if Diego will get the hint, happy when he sees him sigh.

“I’ll come up,” he swears, “stay with you until you fall asleep. I’ll be two minutes.”

Klaus bites his lip in excitement, clapping gleefully as he trots off to wipe away eyeliner and brush out his curls, throw a toothbrush around his mouth, because now he has a bathroom and it’s clean, not full of dirty syringes and mold. He has little bottles of moisturizers, admittedly stolen from his Mother, and he has a large double bed, his single bed from childhood tossed when their inheritance hit and they all decided what they wanted.

The funny (or perhaps sad) thing is that none of them wanted much.

He’s tucked in, fairy lights dimmed, when Diego stays true to his word and takes the chair at his desk to be a watchful eye, a would-be Knight, ready to battle any demons in Klaus’ way. Klaus smiles before turning over, clutching at a pillow as if the soft feathers of it could match the warm body that he remembers, Dave’s lips at his neck as they snatched one or two nights where after making love Dave would hold him close and tell him he loved him. It hurts, in the way it hurts to love and lose, but as the jigsaw puzzle that is his family begin to piece itself together, Klaus has faith one day all the pieces will match up beautifully.  


**

 

 

 


	4. You Can Be Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diego stumbles in on a Klaus and Grace bonding session, argues with his brother, and finally listens to his Mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm obsessed with klaus x grace bonding atm but can't resist klaus x diego interaction so, this is the drabble short for the day. leave me some love if it was your thing! - B <3

  
**  


Diego unlocks his harness the minute he steps through the Academy door. It feels heavier than usual after a night on the town, painting it red yet not with lipstick or Dorothy glitter heels, more with sliced off thumbs and blood gushing from necks. As the leather and props drop to the marble floor a scent of something that reminds him of the one childhood comfort he had lures him to the kitchen. It's four in the morning, eerily silent, and as he paces through he spots them; perfectly round cookies, fresh, smelling like heaven, gooey with caramel. He sneaks a look around in case a sibling's hiding somewhere as a stealth cookie protector but satisfied he's alone, he places one of the treats in his mouth, moaning as he bites in and the soft caramel melts on his tongue.

This is Mom's doing, no doubt about it. There's no way any of those dumbasses produced something of such quality, he thinks, eating like he hasn't had food in weeks, shoving another one in his mouth when he hears a woman - _Mom_ \- scream.

As fast as a bullet he sprints to where he disposed of his harness and knives, grabbing three before chasing danger, ready to slay whoever dare lay a hand on his Mother. He's almost excited, the adrenaline pouring through his veins, because this won't be a mere missing ear, a punctured back. He'll spend hours, days, flaying the skin off the man who hurts Grace and he finds with shock he wants that, wants to see someone crumble under his hands, wants to feel their bones crack -

 - kicking the door open with a poised sleek, well polished knife in his grip he stops dead at the sight of Grace in a long, flowing yellow night dress, as dignified and well-covered as a Victorian lady of the house. Kneeling on her plush, king-sized bed, she's applying lavender dusting powder to the face of his brother. Klaus sits on a hip, face raised and offered to his Mother. Diego can see the powder isn't the only product he's wearing, his lashes dark and long, pink rouge on his cheeks, lips glossy and bright. The room is well lit by various candles and Klaus is in one of Grace's many night gowns, a bright pink in contrast to her pastel yellow. Diego's arrival shocks them both, Grace gasping in surprise, Klaus less interested. Diego concludes with a heavy heart - after the few times they've spoken in depth since being reunited - Klaus is used to angry men barging in to invade his privacy.

"Why, Diego!" Grace holds her chest, programming kicking in as she realizes there's no danger to her nor her son, "what's the matter, sweetie?"

"I - " Diego feels out of place, looking at them, in their lacy, old fashioned dresses and made up faces, " - you screamed."

"I did," Grace laughs, Diego slightly off kilter as he takes in her loose, long hair rather than the neat pin-up, "your brother said the most _rude_ thing! I forget that you're no longer little children," she smiles fondly, cradling Klaus' adoring face. Diego's put out when Klaus turns that face on him, eyes darkening.

"Leave us alone, _Kraken_ ," he bitches, "you hog Mom. She's _my_ Mom too."

Diego understands, somewhat. Klaus is childish, but aren't they all? Luther can't lead. Allison struggles with accepting no. Five's warped by his ego. Ben never got a chance. Vanya can't articulate what she wants, let alone what she needs. Klaus falls in and out of dangerous loves because all he wants is someone to take care of him and Diego, Diego can't process an emotion unless he can stick a knife into it, which you can't, not when you need to feel free, experience love, bounce back after devastation. 

"I'm sorry," he admits and he must look broken as Grace smiles sweetly, patting the bed. Klaus looks at her, betrayed, and Diego knows he should walk away to let his brother have this but he doesn't want to and that selfish need overrides his more generous side. He sits gingerly and watches as Klaus submits to his Mother's insistence that her boys are with her, taking a hand of each son.

"I love you both very much," she promises, looking from Two to Four, "I... want... to be a better Mother."

They both rush to query it, Diego hot and angry as he admonishes such a ridiculous statement when she's _perfect,_ Klaus' bottom lip wobbling, eyes full of tears when Grace clasps her hands together, still smiling.

"I know I am a good Mother," she says ever so slowly, programming struggling with her ability to process things independently rather run on Reginald's strict algorithms, "I think I would like to be a human Mother. I would like to do more than cook for you, wash your clothes. I would like to be... a friend."

Klaus starts to cry and Diego isn't far off so he snaps at his brother to keep those emotions at bay.

"Christ, Klaus, why are you being so dramatic?" he accuses, but it pushes any threat of his own vulnerability back down into the pit of his stomach.

"Why do you have to _pretend_?" Klaus asks, fierce despite his emotion, "god forbid you show any emotion other than anger, Diego. Because crying, oh, it's so weak, isn't it? I'm such a girly little faggot, isn't that right?"

"What the fuck?" Diego spits out, "no, God, Klaus, I can't - is that what you think? You little prick, I _stole_ Mom's shit for you as a kid, so you could play in them, I _listened_ to you about boys, you really think I think that?"

"I think this is what Allison told me about. When men don't listen to what women say," Grace wonders, which shocks Diego back into focus. Their Mother, an innocent woman in this trash fire of a family, confessed she wants to learn how to have a human relationship with her children and he's managed to ruin that admission by reacting in defense. Not that Klaus is innocent, he thinks, glaring at his brother who looks bewildered.

"Mom, I want you to be my friend, too," Four tells her (slightly overdone in that lipstick, if you ask Diego), "you can be human too."

Grace perks up, nodding happily. Diego pinches the bridge of his nose, pride like a bomb in the back of his throat but he forces himself to swallow it. Growing up means saying sorry, it means taking accountability, reacting accordingly and it's not easy but it's necessary. If he wants to be a leader, a provider of comfort, he needs to know when to listen, when to step back and when to be vulnerable. 

"M'sorry," he mumbles at Klaus, who smirks sassily, clearly fighting his own urge to gloat and make Diego regret it, "you're not... dramatic," he forces out, hating it, "and I do pretend sometimes."

Klaus wants to continue his sulk but Diego knows he's got him and in that moment he realises there's something even better than protecting your pride: gaining someone's trust. He's about to jump off the bed when Klaus throws himself at him, giving him a... _hug?_ He would wriggle out of it but Grace holds her face in joy at the sight of it, shuffling over to wrap her arms around her boys, pressing a little kiss to Diego's hair. He gives himself permission to relax, little brother glued to his chest and his Mom holding them gently, and maybe he's nearly thirty and maybe they're only just learning what it means to grow up but right now, for the first time, he feels they're getting it right.  


**

 


	5. The Wedding Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5) Diego and Klaus are getting married and Klaus wants to walk down the aisle in the most beautiful, fairytale princess wedding dress ever. He ropes in his sisters and Grace to go dress shopping with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fill for a kinkmeme prompt:
> 
> "Diego and Klaus are getting married and Klaus wants to walk down the aisle in the most beautiful, fairytale princess wedding dress ever. He ropes in his sisters and Grace to go dress shopping with him.
> 
> Just pure cuteness (maybe a bit of angst with a bitchy shop assistant making some discouraging comments to Klaus, before Allison puts her in her place), and no subversive gender roles. I'm craving twinky, giddy, excited Klaus wanting to look absolutely beautiful for his man, and his female family members cooing over him and indulging him.
> 
> I've no problem if it's omegaverse but equally I think this could be really cute in a more canon way."
> 
> **
> 
> I couldn't resist the cuteness! Leave me some kudos/comments if you liked it, I'll slurp that validation right up! Kisses! - B <3

 

  
**  
  
_Four years after the Nopocalypse_  
  
**

  
  
Klaus isn’t a fan of the Thai place Diego adores. His vigilante lover's body may be a temple but the man orders enough food to feed five people, one evening a week, without fail. Not an avid eater at the best of times Klaus struggles to finish a plate of noodles, never mind the heaps of _gai satay_ , coconut rice, _gaeng pa gai_ and _tord mun pla_ Diego buys in abundance on his weekly splurge.  
  
“Eat!” Diego ushers, as insistent as a Mexican grandmother, grabbing Klaus’ fork.  
  
“Come on, baby, open your mouth,” Diego winks. He knows Klaus won’t refuse him a thing, satisfied when his babe obeys, closing his mouth around the fork and accepting the thin crispy pastry of the appetizer.   
  
They’re watching a recording of the British Royal Wedding for what has to be the fourth time. Diego scoffed at Klaus’ building excitement around it but he’s been caught red handed reading speculative articles about Meghan, Klaus insufferable as he teased before Diego shoved him to his knees for a moment’s peace and to repair any damage done to his male ego.  
  
Happy after making Klaus eat a little more, he leaves off, giving the boy a break even though he has a compulsory desire to shovel rice into Klaus's little body every time they sit down for dinner. He watches, intrigued, as Klaus marvels at the scene in front of him with glossy eyes as Meghan’s veil is lifted.  
  
“I wanna marry you,” Diego admits softly, fingers dancing on the inside of Klaus’ wrist.  
  
“What?” the almost distracted boy asks, eyes suddenly torn away from the screen.  
  
“Yeah, I do,” Diego decides, as if saying out loud was just an experiment, “what is it they say? _Wife you_. Yeah. I’ll do it.”  
  
“Don’t tease,” Klaus begs, looking at the man in front of him as if he’s holy and offering Klaus redemption. Diego’s a man of actions rather than words, bringing Klaus' skinny arm up to kiss the back of a hand.  
  
“Really? Promise?” Klaus is desperate, bottom lip wobbling in that way which both delights Diego and makes him want to destroy whatever it is that’s hurting his boy. This kind of hurt is the good kind: a culmination of a lifetime of destruction which unexpectedly birthed something beautiful.  
  
“Yeah. I promise. You’re my Princess,” Diego whispers, perhaps just a little giddy from the way Klaus looks at him with reverence and desperation but most of all, love.  
  
The royals are forgotten as Klaus squeals and jumps, the prettiest attacker, pressing obsessive, adoring kisses on the neck of the one he loves.  
  
  
**  
  
  
Diego didn’t expect Klaus to be bridezilla.  
  
Considering how Klaus is not one for societal norms, Diego assumed their wedding would be some kind of twisted, fabulous party; a town hall event before they do the mandatory after-do, until he’s spent enough acceptable hours with family and he can take Klaus home and ravish him.  
  
He had laughed when Klaus presented him with venues, stately homes to pretty lakesides options. Slowly, by shutting his mouth and allowing his boy to open up about what he wanted, Diego came to realize a rushed barely-there wedding is the last thing in the world that Klaus wants.  
  
Klaus wants it _all._  
  
He’s not going to say no. They've survived without money until now so what’s the harm in blowing his share of the wealth on the wedding of Klaus’ dreams? Still, he can’t profess to be interested in wedding planning. All he wants is his little bird to feel as special and beautiful as the princess he so admires and if that means splashing the cash on a freakin'  castle, he’ll do it.  
  
“Plan whatever you want, babe,” Diego had said, “whatever you want. Let me know if I need to shout at anyone.”  
  
Turns out, he’s great at shouting at florists who tell Klaus no. That's his contribution to their big day. Klaus takes up an entire fucking room of their apartment with vision boards and cut out collages and to Diego's dismay, often with a sibling in there with him. Sure, it's usually Allison with her efficient nature a perfect complement to Klaus' big ideas but lack of action, but funnily enough it's also quite often Five. Who knew that little creep likes weddings? Diego only interrupts these sessions to threaten his time-travelling brother with death if Five even attempts to ruin a single minute of their day but he packs it in when Klaus yells at him.

"It's my wedding too," Diego complains back, but Klaus and Five merely look at him with pity. 

"Call me if you need me to yell at anyone, then," he offers, trudging back to tending to his sharp, sleek, silver babies.

  
  
**  
  
  
This is the day Klaus has been most excited about, apart from the wedding itself.

  
He’s hopping around their apartment, pretty in a pink skater skirt and classy little kimono, jabbering on at Diego who sips his morning coffee.   
  
“ - ‘cause that won’t look right, will it? I don’t have the hips, so we’re going for a more slim - oh shit! _Don’t listen!_ I can’t be telling you!” Klaus clamps his hand over his mouth dramatically.  
  
“Babe,” Diego sighs, not that interested in makes and styles of wedding dresses if he’s honest. He just wants his beautiful boy in one and couldn’t give a fuck what designer Meghan Markle wore.  
  
A toot of a horn snatches Klaus’ attention away, gathering a fur coat and planting a kiss on Diego’s mouth as he skips off to find the dress of his dreams with the girls.  
  
  
**  
  
  
This isn’t a strip Klaus often frequents.  
  
The Avenue with its luxurious bridal stores isn’t a place he’s ever had reason to go, apart from to stand outside when on an acid come down, looking at a life he’ll never have.  
  
Four years sober and Daddy rich; how times change.  
  
It’s not just the dress. It’s _mostly_ the dress but it’s also having Grace, Allison and Vanya by his side, all different and all his family.  
  
“Subtly is beautiful,” Allison advises as she drives, cutting into the chatter.  
  
“The more glitter the better,” Vanya contradicts her, sat in the back with Klaus who winks at her in agreement.  
  
“Vanya?! Since when have you ever worn glitter?! I’ve only ever seen you in one color: navy!” Allison mocks goodnaturedly. There’s an anxiety which settles in as they park and begin their walk up the steps into one of the city's finest boutiques, an undeniable feeling of intrusion, not belonging, settling in Klaus' belly. He isn’t aware it shows until Allison throws an arm around him.  
  
“Going to find you something perfect,” she swears as they make their way in, appreciatively checking out the high ceilings and pristine marble floor. The interior is something Klaus has only seen with the occasional rich John, back when he did penthouse visits - not a memory he wants to dwell on today.  
  
“We have a booking,” Allison informs the well polished assistant who wears her cool blonde hair with a pin, lips perfectly ruby woo'ed, as pretty as an instagram filter in real life.  
  
“Certainly, Miss, may I take the name?”  
  
Klaus wanders slowly as he lets Allison book them in, hands dancing in front of a dress on show, heart beating faster as he admires the weight of the material, the way it gleams under the soft lighting.  
  
“Right this way,” their assistant advises, the four of them following her enviable heels as she leads them to a large changing room, complete with modesty curtain.  
  
“Can I get you champagne?” she asks, Allison refusing it.  
  
“And, uh, Kloss?” she asks, turning to Vanya, “I have your completed preference survey here somewhere...”, she fiddles with some paperwork. Vanya frowns, caught off guard and Klaus begins to understand with a sinking stomach that he’s not the bride this exquisite woman is expecting.  
  
“Klaus,” Grace corrects, expression never faltering from serene, elegant housewife, “the bride is my son, Klaus.”  
  
Mom’s gloved hand reaches out to indicate who she means, falling to rest on his shoulder. He fidgets with the neckline of his kimono, wilting under the stranger’s eyes as she assesses him.  
  
“I’m afraid we’re not that kind of boutique,” she eventually says, cut short by Allison, who steps closer, emphasizing her own statuesque figure.  
  
“And what kind of boutique are you?” she asks, falsely light, “because we thought you were the kind of boutique who wanted to make $200,000 today. Or are you a homophobic boutique who wants an exposé on their abhorrent treatment of queer people splashed across Buzzfeed’s top news page, hmm?”  
  
It was delivered as beautifully as one of Diego’s knives, right in the chest. The assistant pales, shrinking in submission under the weight of Allison’s eyes and celebrity.  
  
“No, no, you misunderstand,” she stutters, “I’m awfully sorry. We cater for all genders. I - I - I was just surprised,” she begs.  
  
“We’ll be taking a generous discount,” Allison informs her, “get another, better assistant here to help my brother. And we want tea. And cake. Now.”  
  
It’s satisfying to see the woman walk away in shame. If Klaus felt a little more confident, he’d have enjoyed joining in with the verbal destruction. The downside to being sober is not having the extrovert clown disguise on hand at all times because buried underneath that exterior has always been someone softer, a little less sure, a touch shyer.  
  
“We can go somewhere else,” Vanya suggests, looking at Klaus, “if you want.”  
  
He shakes his head. This is the store he wants. The one with the dress he’s bookmarked, the one he’s spent hours lusting after, imagining how it will feel on his skin. It’s the dress that’s going to baptise him. He’ll put it on and the sins of the past decade will slide away, shrivel up at his feet and fade into ash. There’s been many jokes about Klaus in virginal white and there’s no dress in the galaxy that could make Klaus virginal — but there’s a dress which could forgive him, which could mark the start of the story he wants to write.  
  
“Hi!”, a chirpier assistant joins them, hair as gorgeous as Allison’s, “so, sourpuss is gone,” she winks surreptitiously, “you’ve got me; and I’m not letting you leave here until you look perfect.”  
  
_That’s more like it._  
  
“My dear son has a dress in mind, don’t you, darling?” Grace tilts her head. They don’t miss how the assistant raises her eyebrows, clearly wondering how on earth a woman her age could have a son Klaus’ age, but she doesn’t question it.  
  
“Yeah, it’s in my paperwork,” Klaus insists. He knows it sent it by email, watching as the woman flicks through her colleague’s file until she finds it, beaming at them.  
  
“An excellent choice,” she smiles, “let me just fetch it for you. Help yourselves to the refreshments!”  
  
An unsettling feeling curls in Klaus’ stomach that this is too much, he’s taken it too far, as he always does. He’s guided behind the curtain when she returns, his options covered in protective plastic and his heart is warmed knowing Mom and the girls wait in anticipation to see what Klaus is going to wear on his special day.  
  
Annette, the woman assisting him, unzips the protective casing carefully.  
  
“This is my favorite,” she admits, her voice and the soothing music carrying through the store calming Klaus a little, “you have a good eye for fashion. I think this is gonna suit you perfectly.”  
  
“I hope so,” he smiles, hands shaky as he reaches out. He has back up options but this is the _one_ and seeing it in real life, not just on the screen of their laptop, takes his breath away. Lace and a classy panel underneath, an elegant neckline diving down to clinch at the waist before spanning out, a circle skirt which trails elegantly, just enough — it’s indulgent, Klaus will admit.  
  
He thumbs it carefully, admiring the patterns, the barely there opal glitter dusted across the beautiful material.  
  
“Let’s get you in it,” Annette elbows him, “come on.”  
  
He’s never been one to be concerned with stripping in front of another, happily complying as Annette works her magic fingers on the dress to assist him in it. This is his Cinderella moment, from rags to riches, barely daring to lift his head and meet his reflection as the assistant works behind him with great care, buttoning him in.  
  
“Hey,” she smiles, “come on. Take a look.”  
  
He touches the waist, breathing out a shaky breath as he lusts over the gorgeous, imposing circle the skirt creates around him before finally forcing himself to look in the mirror. He blinks, creeping forward to touch his reflection, see if it’s real. The lace pulls across his bony chest, tight around his shoulders but pleasantly so.  
  
The anxieties that his deathly pale skin would clash with the crisp white color fades.

This isn’t a mirror; this is how Diego sees him.  
  
_“You’re so beautiful, baby.”_  
  
Klaus has always been aware of his general appeal; the puppy dog eyes, pretty features, lithe body, all the ingredients for a tasty twink recipe. He knows that. But, beautiful? He couldn’t be beautiful, no. He’s heard it but never believed it. Allison is beautiful; graceful, knowing her worth. Five is beautiful in a deadly sort of way; chiseled features, confident and collected. Diego is beautiful, dark eyes, soft lips, dangerously attractive.  
  
Today, Klaus is beautiful, too.  
  
“Ready?”  
  
She finds him heels as he marvels at himself, keeping in mind his need for the shoes to be well hidden, deliberately small. Diego might enjoy the hooker high ones Klaus straps into for those evenings when they’re alone and his man is ravenous for him, but he’d never forgive Klaus for making him look short in their wedding photos.  
  
“Ok,” he grins, oddly nervous as Annette draws the curtain back to reveal him to Grace and the girls.  
  
Allison screams, making Vanya jump until they fall into giggles whilst Grace beams proudly and Klaus soon finds himself surrounded by three pairs of hands, pulling here, touching there. His Mother checks his waist, ensuring the dress sits nicely, as Vanya admires the way it clings to his shoulders, Allison patting his ass.  
  
“Hey! Diego won’t be happy if you touch me up!” he complains, gaining an eye roll from his big sister.  
  
“As if,” she bitches, “just smoothing it over!”  
  
“Isn’t dear Diego just the luckiest man in the whole world?” Grace asks, turning on the assistant, “don’t you agree, dear?”  
  
“Oh, for sure,” Annette coos, “it’s perfect for his body type.”  
  
Klaus preens at that, swishing slightly, the skirt rustling in his hands as he holds it before letting it bounce once more. It’s expensive, eye-wateringly so, but he intends to do this once. There’s a bittersweet satisfaction in spending Daddy’s dollars on a fairytale dress for his least favorite boy, Klaus must admit.

No one asks if this is the one. They all know it is. Klaus trots around, spinning a little, not over how silky it feels against his thighs but coarser, harsher on the outside, tight but safely so. He allows himself to feel special as the girls chatter about how lovely the trail is, not overdone, _just right,_ as Grace stands and watches, ever the proud Mom. 

"You think Diego will like it?" he asks, biting his lip, embarrassed to be vulnerable. 

"He's gonna lose it," Allison swears, her smile wide and gorgeous, "he's gonna cry so hard. It's going to be amazing."

They all giggle at the thought. Klaus smiles bashfully, searching for Annette, nodding.

"I want it," he tells her, "it's this one."

She claps joyfully, cooing about what an excellent choice Klaus has made, how darling he'll look with a lick of paint and his hair curled just so, ready for his day. Klaus tunes out a little, still searching the mirrors of the private room, unable to shake the smile from his face. This time, it's different. He's spent his life avoiding himself, unable to look in a mirror and see the empty ghoul of the person he's become looking back at him but as he meets his own eyes in these mirrors, he's satisfied. He's Diego's. And for one day, everyone will see what Diego sees --  a Princess, someone beautiful -- _someone_.

 

 


	6. Mice Hate Math

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus would love to finish High School, but with Diego and Ben's teasing plus his absolute hatred of Math, it isn't looking likely. Allison lends a hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A one shot of Klaus and Ben revising for high school exams after Ben forces them both to finish and get some qualifications. Diego & Allison hinder and help, respectively.

 

Klaus holds Ben responsible for this particular failure.

Ever since their dash back in time before side hopping the consequences of it and arriving back in the modern day world with Ben in tact, _fully grown_ , Six’s habit of being glued to his side hasn’t disappeared.

Ben’s insistence they graduate high school is why Klaus currently finds himself in agony.

He had swatted away his brother’s embarrassingly nerdy desire to go to school, not the least bit concerned with his lack of academic achievement. Ben had pestered, finally grinding him down, his last winning shot a “ _if we pass high school, you can go to college, meet all those hot freshmen_ ” and there’s definitely a part of Klaus which wants to get thoroughly dicked down by an entire basketball team.

_“Ew, Klaus, remember, daydreams don’t have to be audio,” Ben had snitched at that particular revelation._

_“Homophobic and rude,” Klaus bitched back, his brother merely scoffing at his dramatic words_.

It had been a slog, these past twelve months. Not only is he processing grief and navigating the maze of sobriety, he's trying to understand pathetic fallacy and algebra. It is both a blessing and a curse that the finish line has finally made its way to the horizon and therefore most of their studying is now done at home, furious revision sessions before those all-important exams.

Math is Klaus’ most detested and despised topic of them all.

It doesn’t help to see his brother whizzing through workbooks happily like they’re erotic magazines, practically smiling as he completes another set of mock questions and moves to the next section of his more advanced workbook. Klaus is still floundering in Section One of the first, most basic course.

“You’re so good at this,” Klaus whines, digging a foot into Ben’s side from where they chill side by side on the chaise lounge, “and I’m the worst.”

“Asian brain, baby,” Ben taps his temple annoyingly, “we are the masters of Math.”

“Ugh,” Klaus throws his hands up, workbook splayed open on his exposed tummy, “what about _me?_ ”

“Hm, German?” Ben genuinely seems to think about it, “Germans… well, Germans like rules. They’re good at soccer. They like sausages? I mean, only one of those applies to you…”

“ - _hey_ \- ”

“S’up, nerds,” Diego joins, storming his way into their comfy study and clearly having eavesdropped, “Klaus is a terrible German. Germany wouldn’t accept him - apart from some of those dodgy clubs in Berlin.”

He shares a high five with Ben, much to Klaus’s disapproval. In retaliation, Klaus attempts to kick him but of course his excellently trained vigilante brother anticipates it, grabbing his calf and holding it there, rendering Klaus helpless and uncomfortable.

“I’m Mexican, which makes me way fucking cooler than either of you,” he supplies. Klaus is hardly going to argue with that. Diego, more than any of them, went on a soul searching journey after the Academy in an attempt to scour Reginald’s parenting from his skin. He was desperate to connect with something real, something Klaus only discovers upon their adult reunion as the brother he always thought of his 'big bro' slips into occasional Spanish and talks about beautiful cities south of the border.

“Where d’ya think Luther’s from?” Ben quizzes, pencil tapping his nose.

“White, dumb, a strong case of imaginary oppression?” Diego sighs, “that’s American, bro.”

The two brothers titter at the joke. Of course Two and Six are enjoying each other’s company again; Diego’s sass the perfect complement to Ben’s snark.

“Hey,” Klaus pipes up, nervous as they round on him, “leave off Luther. He’s been _trying_.”

“He's certainly trying,” Ben smirks, looking to his other brother for approval, which he gets. Klaus has something on his tongue, about to smash into Diego’s fragile masculinity because Two is stood there with his hips jutting out in all leather, looking camp as hell.

“Stop being so European, Mousey,” Diego can just about say, breaking into giggles at the resurrection of a dumb nickname. Klaus rhymes with mouse and this was something of a horrific insult to a five year old.

“I don’t think I’m German,” Klaus deflects, throwing a delicate arm over the couch, happy that Ben’s distracted from his tyrannical rule of revision for them both, “I think I was born unto a Persian beauty. A pale one, admittedly.”

“Why are white people so annoying?” Ben hitches himself onto his elbows, “you’re not Persian.”

“I don’t even care! You brought it up,” Klaus retorts. He doesn’t mind the brotherly teasing. It reminds him of the slithers of joy in his miserable childhood and yet after a little too much of it he starts to crave something soft. He’s been indulged, ever since moving back into his old bedroom and getting sober. He’s become a plant Mom, as he keeps saying, much to Luther’s confusion (“ _do you mean Plant Dad?” “No, I definitely do not,”_ ) and he’s been really working to get these fucking grades.

“Aww, Mousey, don’t cry,” Diego mocks. Klaus knows Two is teasing, relaxing a little before squealing when his joint favorite brother wrestles him into a headlock, “Persian or German, you’re still our little pretty boy.”

“Diego!” Klaus flails, absolutely not getting out of the hold despite his strong brother clearly using the least amount of strength possible. After he’s satisfied he’s made Ben laugh he lets off, amused with himself for making Klaus’s hair bounce wildly and his cheeks flush pink.

“I can’t believe Ben talked you into this school shit. I get it, _Ben,_ you’re gonna go and become some kind of hot shot lawyer or something, but Klaus? I didn’t know you need your high school certificate to sit around knitting all freakin’ day?”

He begins to tickle Klaus’s foot and Klaus can’t help the girlish scream that leaves his lips, thrashing about like a fish out of water against Ben’s immovable frame and Diego’s steel-like grip on his leg.

“Leave me alone,” Klaus begs, voice high pitched and face pink much to the amusement of his wind-up merchants brothers. He thrashes to no avail, like a wispy feather caught in the grip of a tornado, Diego’s upper body strength keeping him awkwardly twisted and elevated despite his protests.

Ben lets his textbook fall shut, gracefully crouching and bouncing back onto his feet so he doesn’t harm Diego’s bizarre game of jenga with Klaus’s body.

“I aced my last mock,” he adds unhelpfully, “I still have the Crazy Ex-Girlfriend finale to watch.”

Diego whips round at an alarming speed.

“You watch that?" - a pause - "Greg, Nathaniel or Josh?”

“Oh, Josh,” Ben scoffs, as if it’s a stupid question, “Asian solidarity.”

“What? Ew, no,” Diego’s repulsion is real, cut by a, “Nathaniel all the way, baby,” from Klaus, sighing dreamily, “god, that man - I want him to impregnate me.”

The comment at least makes Diego drop his leg as if it’s ebola-infested and burning to the touch.

“Diego, the gay won’t catch, relax,” he jokes, happy to cross his ankles. He thinks his brothers should count themselves lucky he’s in his criss-cross leather pants rather than a skirt today, as Ben would have got quite the eyeful if not. He looks longing at Ben’s retreating back, wanting his undead brother to give him the go ahead to join him for his television marathon but no such luck, just a “ _keep studying Klaus, you suck at Math!_ ” sing-song shouted as he heads for his boy cave.

“I’m too pretty for Math,” Klaus pouts at a bored Diego, Two roaming around the room like a lost cat, “pretty gays don’t do Math.”

“Tell that to Allison,” Diego mumbles, flicking dust off a windowsill and tutting as he does so.

“Allison’s gay?” Klaus asks excitedly, infused with energy suddenly as he takes in Diego’s confused expression when they’re interrupted by a “ _Diego, you have got to stop reading tumblr_ ,” from the woman herself. She’s stood confidently at the doorway dressed in gym gear; grey vest top and tight legging bottoms to match. Klaus always feels like a child under her gaze. Allison’s achieved so much, albeit much of it through nefarious means, but she’s lived an adult life: a career, a relationship, birthing and raising a child. She holds herself with a confidence that can absolutely be a defense but it’s something Klaus admires. She holds her cards close to her chest, doesn’t reveal them to the first person who asks, unlike him.

“Yeah, according to tumblr I’m in love with this fuckin’ idiot,” Diego indicates towards his brother with his thumb, disgusted, “I’d rather let Five suck my big toe than let Klaus give me a lap dance.”

“Five will bite your toe off if you so much as whisper that in his presence,” Allison grins, inviting herself further in and looking at Klaus quizzically.

“Ah, Algebra 1?” she peeps, leaning over to take in the book still sat on Klaus’ tummy. He slaps a palm over it protectively, voices in his head amused. _You’re so stupid, Klaus. You’re 30 years old and studying a course for ninth graders. Ben’s on Advanced. You’re failing. The only thing you’re good at is spreading your legs for a few dollars_.

“Yes, silly little me is still trying to pass,” Klaus laughs at himself before she does, hoping she’ll get bored and go for her run but horrifically, his siblings have started to take an interest in his life. She moves his feet slightly, taking a seat on the armrest and easily peeling the book away from her brother.

“That’s not silly,” she reprimands with an authoritative voice that makes Klaus pay attention. He’s always been weak for people who take charge, firey warriors who know what needs to be done and go and do it. He’s always been water, full of emotion and lost voices, too lost to ever commit to anything let alone finish something.

“Don’t you remember?” Diego pipes up, “Allison was the biggest Math nerd. She forced Dad to let her do her AP Calculus.”

Their sister smiles, breathtakingly beautiful. She’s rarely without make-up so it’s a treat to see her bare and fresh faced, even if it does intimidate Klaus closeup. People have called him beautiful, but he’s only _beautiful_ with a face full of eyeliner and glitter. Underneath all of that he’s scarred, marked, skin damaged from a decade of drink and drugs yet she’s inspirational, glowing next to him.

“It’s so funny you remember that,” she admits, starting to flick through Klaus’ scribbles and worksheets.

“Ooh,” she stops, genuinely excited, “factorisation.”

Klaus sighs dramatically, sounding pained, indicating to his siblings he requires mercy. He should have known these two driven fools wouldn’t show it.

“Mousey, what’s factorisation?” Diego asks, faux-sweet. Allison bursts into laughter.

“Mousey! I forgot! Aw, our little Mouse!”

Klaus buries his face into his arms, unwillingness to give them the satisfaction of his reaction.

“It’s the opposite of expanding brackets,” Klaus reemerges, as haughtily as one can be after hiding, “I _know_ the definition. I just don’t know how to do it,” he admits, bringing his knees up. The submissive, _young_ gesture must stir something in his sister because she looks at him fondly, reaching to stroke his curls.

“Eurgh!” Diego exclaims at the act of sibling affection, “gross! Don’t give in to the mouse, Allison, he’s playing you.”

Klaus blinks over at his brother. Diego is soft underneath all of his swagger and the sight of Klaus pouting at him does draw a little smile from surly Number Two.

“Ok, well,” she shifts closer to him, textbook in hands, “if we need to factorise an expression, we look for the highest common factor in each term. Look,” she demands, making Klaus lean towards her. He makes a show of it, acting as if it’s the worst thing in the world he’s been asked to do, but he follows her perfectly manicured nail to the text.

“X² + 2x - 8,” he reads, “so… split the 2x into two… multiply for -8?”

“Yes!” she praises, if a little shocked, which makes Klaus throw a boastful look over his shoulder towards his brother. Diego flips him the bird, clearly done with this little sibling session as he leaves and bops Klaus on the head - _hard_ \- much to his sister’s fury.

“Hey!”

“Ow!” Klaus yells helplessly, hoping to garner as much sympathy as possible, “my brain!”

“You really can’t afford to lose more brain cells, yet here we are,” and with that, his charming second-in-line sibling disappears.

Allison watches the doorway as if expecting their brother to return for more playful insults but he doesn’t, leading her attention back to Klaus who fidgets underneath it. The inadequacy, the insistent, obsessive noise in his head that tells him _you’re an embarrassment, look at you, she thinks you’re a joke_ makes a familiar itch appear on his entire body and he's only ever been able to scratch it off with a bottle of whisky.

“Hey. Mousey,” Allison smirks, tapping her fingers on his forearm, “don’t get too lost in there, hmm?”

She moves her hand to his forehead. He savors the touch. For all these years he’s found touches, touches from people who didn’t care for him at all. Touches that turned into fists, to gropes, to his body being accessed and taken in ways he didn’t want - _did he?_ He isn’t sure anymore.

“You’re really doing it,” she says, eyebrows high and a smile on her face that Klaus likes to think she only reserves for him, Vanya and Claire, “we’re so proud of you.”

 _Ooh, earnest emotions_ , he cringes, about to make a joke when she holds a decisive hand in the air.

“No jokes,” she orders, “come here.”

That’s how he finds himself wrapped in the arms of his precious, problematic, darling sister - her fierce love and protection stronger than the demon inside of him that insists he’s not worthy of it. He can’t kill that demon, can’t starve it with his new abstinence from cocaine and gin and purple bruises from angry men. Starving doesn’t work. It’s feeding it new, foreign, complicated things that weakens it: an early morning rise complete with shower and oatmeal breakfast, a clapped hand on his back from a happy Luther, a night where he talks to his lost love on the astral plane.

 

It's learning algebra, even when you're the prettiest pansexual in all the land. 

 


	7. in all chaos, there is calculation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison's emotions get the better of her in a miserable encounter with her broken brother, Klaus. 
> 
> RATING: Gen.  
> WARNINGS/TAGS for Short Story #7: Drug/Alcohol Abuse, Rumoring, Angst, Confrontation, Bad Parenting, Physical Violence, Sibling Argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this idea of an angsty scene between these two during the 'lost years'.

 

The blazing hot sunshine that attacks them as Allison marches out of the station is bizarre; a stark contrast to the damp, dark mood that surrounds them. She glares at the offending sibling. It was bad enough catching sight of her estranged little brother in the dark halls of the cop shop, never mind seeing him in broad daylight. Like a baby vampire he winces, offended by the bright light on his pale, marked skin. 

"See ya again soon, sweetheart," a large, meaty, bright pink cop winks, brushing past Klaus who stands hopelessly in a tight, shimmery pink skirt, a barely there black vest. Allison glares daggers at the leering officer, happy when he catches her angry eyes and looks away sharply.

She doesn't speak to Klaus, furiously walking away and waiting for him to follow, almost broken Doc Martens loud as he keeps a small distance between them. 

She should just leave him, let him crawl back to whatever den of sin he got busted in, but she finds she's eyeing the nearby alleyways before disappearing down one, her brother hot on her heels.

"So, Ally...," he tries, awkwardly sober and hating it. She stops, satisfied they're deep enough in for no nosy passers-by to overhear, fixing him with her best glare.

"Don't you dare," she warns, suddenly disgusted by the thought of his dirty, shaky hands near her $2000 handbag, and horrified by her own snobbery, "don't you dare try and joke with me today, Klaus."

His hair has grown. He's sort of beautiful, in a heart-breaking way. Klaus was always the one she envied; like everyone else, she assumed he lived a life of carefree, undiluted joy and he did it whilst being lusted after, desired. He's so _different_ to her, always has been, and at one time she privately, desperately wished she was could be just like him. Meals avoided and bad eyeliner trials occurred, but Dad had put an anger in her that replaced a need to be filthy thin and gothically gorgeous.  
  


_"I thought you'd be stronger than your gender, Number Three, than to get obsessed with vanity, dieting. You're weak! Number Four could pin you down at this rate."_   
  


Klaus shrugs a little, dancing on his heels like a whore in a church, unable to sit still.

She doesn't know how many times she's done this. Often, she'll get a call, post bail, but it just so happens that today she's in the city and curiosity killed the cat. She wanted to see what became of the boy she found morbidly fascinating, like a poisonous spider, or a dying bird.

She swallows down the lump in her throat at the sight of her brother. He's not heroin-chic thin anymore, just bones, and his skin is less dreamy and smooth but littered with wounds, bruises, pin-points. 

The aftermath of the Academy left her with guilt, that's true. She can ignore it because she's distanced herself from it. Patrick, Claire, Hollywood - she's a fairytale, a superhero. They haven't seen the gutter, the rats. Klaus is that gutter, staring back at her, a breathing, heart-beating, blinking reminder of everything she'd rather forget but can't. They say cut off toxic, saw it off like a black, dead foot. She's never been good at giving up.

"You're a mess," she whispers, scared of raising her voice in case it all spills out and she's left screaming on her knees, " _look_ at you. This is it, is it?"

He's hopeless, unsure, attempting to camouflage his way into the brick wall behind him.

"Got a smoke?" he mumbles, and she has, so she tosses the pack his way and waits.

"I know," he tells her, rolling his eyes, spiking anger in her, "I know, Allison."

_He doesn't know_ , the voice inside her screams. Klaus is still as irresponsible as they come. He'd be screwed without her, but is this love, or an ego trip? She's always liked recognition, always desired to be a provider, a protector, but just like anything that's a craving you get a taste of it and you need more. So she carries on saving him, even though the weight of it is impossible and heavy and pressing on her lungs.

"You have no idea what it's like," she tells him instead, "because you don't know how to love anything."

Klaus blinks in surprise, as if her wayward admission of love is as painful as the sun in his eyes, tapping his cigarette ash to the floor.

"I - maybe... you know, you look great," he smiles, "green is your color, Ally."

She isn't proud of what comes next, remnants of training, as she shoves him back and winds a strong hand around his tiny neck, watching as he struggles. He tries to kick, lamely, still afraid of hurting her even as she tightens around him. _You're a worthless waste of space_ , she thinks, unflinching as Klaus chokes in her hold, grappling fingers trying to claw her off him, _you're an embarrassment, a failure, you're without honor, you ruined everything_.

Common sense kicks in, a twisted version of love, that makes her stop. It's not like he can die but he makes a big song and dance of gasping for air, as dramatic as the LA frenemies that litter her kitchen with their tales of woe. 

" _Christ,_ " Klaus almost laughs, "you enjoyed that just a bit too much, sis."

"I will never," she tells him, quietly furious, "help you again."

He looks impossibly sad for a second before his eyes slink back to hers like a rebellious cat about to defy it's owner.

"You said that last time," he answers back, waiting for a punch.

She finally gets it. 

It would be an act of kindness to do it, and that's why she doesn't, stepping back and letting him look at her with desperation. _Such a weak, lazy boy_ , she hears Reginald say, her Father's voice always there in the back of her mind, _always wanting everyone else to pick up his slack_.

"You want the magic wand, Klaus?" she mocks, tired and angry of always having to be the _right_ one, the _smart_ one, the soul-crushing guilt of knowing he lives such a miserable life, with no focus, no _ability_ to cure himself. _Lazy,_ she thinks, _and yet I'm always here to save you_.

Leaning in, it leaves her lips as easy as the clouds in the sky float calmly above them.

" _I heard a rumor... you'll always feel ugly, until you get sober_."

God, it's just a jealous, petty, _bitter_ thing to do - leaving her mouth and corrupting his mind - but it feels good, powerful, in that second. It's not revolutionary. Klaus can't be deluded enough to think anything other, rumor or not, but she sees the seed stubbornly dig its heels in, ready to flourish into hideous flowers.

"Good luck," she mocks, not looking back as she hurries away. The last thing she'd ever allow him to see are the tears in her eyes.

 

 


End file.
